


love always wakes a dragon and suddenly, flames everywhere

by decideophobia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/pseuds/decideophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anyway,” Stiles is saying, as Derek tunes in again. “Everyone’s busy and I don’t wanna spend Valentine’s being pitied by my dad, and you have your Forever Alone thing going on, so I figured we might spend Valentine’s being alone together.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	love always wakes a dragon and suddenly, flames everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> So, a very late, or very early Valentine's fic. Take it as you want. As usual, prompted by Chris. Took some canon, some inspiration by tumblr posts, and here we go. The porn sucks. Derek mopes a lot. Enjoy.

“Yo, Derek!” Stiles hollers before Derek has even set one foot over the threshold of his apartment.

Derek scowls in confusion, closing the door behind himself before he steps into the living room where Stiles is sprawled haphazardly over his couch. There’s a book in his hand and he’s chewing on the cap of a marker, eyes flying stupidly fast over the lines. He doesn’t even look at Derek, like it’s not unusual that he’s here.

“How did you get in here?” Derek asks, takes a look around. Stiles takes the cap out of his mouth and sits up, closing the book. 

He rolls his shoulders in a very distracting way. Derek tries not to stare. He vaguely realizes he fails but then again, he never seems to be able to tear his eyes off of Stiles so this doesn’t come as a surprise, really. 

Stiles looks up at him, eyes wide and innocent. “Got a key,” he says and waves a hand around. 

“I didn’t give you a key.”

Stiles shrugs non-committally, like he’s waving off a mistake. “Borrowed the one you gave Scott to make a copy for myself.”

Derek isn’t really surprised, honestly. He should’ve seen this coming. Stiles doesn’t like to be left out, though Derek never even considered Stiles might want to have a key to this place. So, he isn’t surprised but he feels weirdly creeped out thinking about all the times Stiles might have been here when Derek was out; or just the possibility of Stiles walking in at any given time.

“This is a violation of privacy,” Derek points out. “And illegal.”

A challenging smirk spreads on Stiles’ face. “You gonna arrest me, Deputy?”

“Nope, but I could tell your dad about all the copied key cards you have,” Derek answers. He watches, satisfied, how Stiles’ jaw goes slack with horror. “Actually, it’s my duty to tell him that given that I work for him now.”

Stiles straightens himself and snorts, smug expression stealing over his features again as he watches Derek strip out of his jacket. “You should’ve told him that the second you learned about it. I think now it’s a little too late for that.”

“Who says I’m gonna tell him how long I knew about this?”

Stiles opens his mouth in mock shock, lips a perfect O, and Derek forces himself not to slip into the gutter. “You gonna lie to your _boss_?”

“You gonna lie to your _dad_?” Derek parrots. “Oh wait, you’ve been doing that for how many years now?”

“Oh, screw you, they’re only for emergencies.”

Derek kinks an eyebrow at him in answer. “You used them last week to make sure he doesn’t hide fast food in his office.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles’ mouth hangs open again on an unfinished sentence. He snaps it shut to glower at Derek. “If you made sure he doesn’t eat fast food, I wouldn’t have to use the key cards.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You know, actually I make sure he doesn’t eat _only_ fast food.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles narrows his eyes in suspicion, and the resemblance to the Sheriff is startlingly uncanny. 

“Your radical anti fast food approach only makes him wanna eat it even more,” Derek explains. Stiles snorts in indignation. “So, I let him get his curly fries every once in a while. This way he’s served for a while and eats the rabbit food you give him.”

“It’s not rabbit food,” Stiles argues. Of course he argues. Just for the sake of it, or maybe just because it’s Derek who he’s arguing with. Stiles has called it rabbit food himself, several times, in front of him. 

“Right.”

Stiles is silent for a beat, and then, “I didn’t know you were doing this.”

Derek shrugs. It never came up. He knows how vigorous Stiles is in his quest to keep his father from eating unhealthy stuff all the time, so he figured he might contribute his own methods. For the Sheriff’s sake. Not to impress Stiles. Definitely not to impress Stiles. Well, maybe just a little. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Derek asks eventually while he steps over Stiles’ bag, reaching out his arm to make grabby hands. 

Stiles sighs long-sufferingly but hands over the key. “Valentine’s Day’s coming up, Derek.”

Derek shoves the copy of his key into the back pocket of his pants, kinks an eyebrow at Stiles who flops back down on the couch, stretching like a cat: all lean lines. “So?”

“So, Scott and Allison both freed their schedules and Allison will use the possibility to screw Scott into nirvana,” Stiles says with a wistful sigh. “Lydia and Isaac might even join them, I don’t even know, I lost track of their fourway thing a while ago.”

Derek scrunches up his nose. He doesn’t know how that particular thing happened, or how it keeps working, but apparently everyone’s happy, so he’s not going to comment on it. 

“Erica and Boyd are on some romantic get-away, doing god knows what,” Stiles continues. He pulls a face then. “No, scratch that, she told me in great detail what she wants to do, and let me tell you, I am traumatized for at least ten lifetimes.”

“Good thing she’s got you to tell her that stuff,” Derek says smirking. Erica used to talk with him about this, or more talk _at_ him, until Derek started telling her about his sexual escapades. She’s stopped shortly after.

Stiles sits up, narrowing his eyes. “Good thing every word she said got branded into my brain so I can recount it for you,” he informs Derek as he leans forward, a dangerous glimmering in his eyes that makes Derek want to get out. “You know, how she wants to start by kissing Boyd, slow and deep and _filthy_ \--”

Derek shudders at how low Stiles’ voice drops, at how the words sound when he says them. It’s obscene. Fuck.

“--and then they’d stumble to the bed, getting na--okay, no, you know what, I can’t do this,” Stiles says and covers his face with his hands, falling back against the couch cushions. “It’s really frustrating that everyone tells me about their sex life in vivid detail when I don’t have one of my own.”

Derek is a little dumbfounded, to say the least.

“And you do not want to know how many sex stories Scott has told me. I probably know more about Allison’s sexual fantasies and preferences than she’d like me to.”

Stiles keeps talking but Derek can hardly listen, feeling ashamed that he can’t quite decide if he’s disappointed that Stiles stopped talking about sex or not. It’s not like Derek wants to know about anyone’s sex life, much less the ones of his pack members, but listening to Stiles _talk_ , low and dirty--He’s so screwed, fuck his life. 

“Anyway,” Stiles is saying, as Derek tunes in again. “Everyone’s busy and I don’t wanna spend Valentine’s being pitied by my dad, and you have your Forever Alone thing going on, so I figured we might spend Valentine’s being alone together.”

“Forever Alone,” Derek echoes.

Stiles waves his hand impatiently. “Yeah, you know, glaring everyone who shows interest in you into submission until they chicken out. Well, technically, you don’t even glare, its just, most people don’t know that your murder face happens to be your resting face, too. Your eyebrows look less stormy on your resting face, though, it’s a very subtle difference, took me a while to figure it out.”

“People are showing interest in me?”

Stiles rolls his whole _body_ , really, and Derek’s sure he can hear something strain. “Please.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at him.

“All the time, dude, I don’t know if you’re, like, genuinely obtuse about it or willfully ignorant.”

“I’m not interested,” Derek says defensively. He’s only interested in some stupid, lithe college guy with a lush mouth, blazing eyes, and moles like constellations strewn across his skin. 

“See, Forever Alone right there,” Stiles points out as he swings his legs over the arm of the couch. “I’m pretty sure they’re all just lusting after your hot bod and nothing else, though.”

“My hot bod?” Derek repeats. Stiles flushes to his hairline, it’s devastating, really. 

“Or whatever,” Stiles says, strained. “Back to the topic, though: Valentine’s, you, me, sitting in a tree...”

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles’ singsong, goes to drop down onto the couch next to him. 

“Dunno,” Stiles continues, scratches a spot under his chin. “What do you wanna do?”

Derek shrugs. “Exchange recipes, get some knitting advice, maybe go do something mad, like, feeding the ducks.”

“You sure you won’t pee yourself in excitement?”

“No promises.”

“Keep a fresh pair of pants ready then.”

Derek has his dumbest moments, undeniably, with Stiles, and he can’t even feel embarrassed about it. “What movie do you wanna watch?”

Stiles opens his mouth.

“I’m not going to marathon Star Wars with you,” Derek cuts in before Stiles can answer his question, and Stiles’ mouth snaps shut. The pout on Stiles’ face almost brings Derek to his knees. “We can watch The Matrix, though.”

Stiles’ face lights up, and Derek’s heart stutters, stops for a millisecond, and picks up twice its pace. God, whenever Stiles smiles at him like that it’s as if his whole world tips and leaves him scrambling. 

“Deal,” Stiles says. A thoughtful expression crosses his face. “In the spirit of Valentine’s we have to watch some sappy romcom first.”

Derek frowns. He really doesn’t want to watch a sappy romcom with Stiles, it’ll only make him think of all the ridiculous ways in which Stiles and he could stumble into each others arms. He’s so pathetic he wants to bang his head against a wall. Erica would probably choke on her own laughter if she knew about it. 

“Like what?”

“The Accidental Husband.”

It comes out so fast, Derek blinks at Stiles in surprise; watches how Stiles colours again. “That came out too fast, didn’t it?”

Derek doesn’t comment on it, just smirks, squirms away when Stiles digs his fingers into his side. 

“Fine,” Derek agrees, because who is he to deny Stiles anything. Stiles drops his head on Derek’s shoulder, blinks up at him with those big, beautiful eyes, and something huge and warm swells in Derek’s chest. It would be so easy to slip an arm around Stiles’ middle, pull him in, kiss his forehead; throw him over the armrest and fuck him senseless; really, Derek’s not picky. 

“You’re the best,” Stiles singsongs, and Derek shoves him away. 

“You’re the worst.”

“Awww, that’s practically a love declaration coming from you.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow. “If I made a love declaration, you’d forget your own name.”

Stiles’ eyes light up, dangerous, challenging, enticing. “Oh yeah?” he asks, sitting up straight, and Derek knows, it was a mistake saying that. “Like, can I get a sample?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be chickenshit.”

“No, I’m not gonna risk you proposing to me after.”

Stiles’ face goes from surprise to glee and then he’s laughing, loud and joyous. It’s the best sound Derek’s ever heard. 

“Yeah, cos if I proposed to you, you wouldn’t be able to say anything but yes,” Stiles says, and Derek thinks he isn’t wrong. 

“I’d rather join Erica and Boyd on their sex trip.”

Stiles pats his thigh. “I always knew you were kinky.”

Derek bares his teeth. “You can’t even _begin_ to imagine.”

“You do know you’re practically challenging me to find out all of your kinks, right?”

“Works best with learning by doing.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open, round and plush, and Derek wants lick into it, taste him. He stares at Derek like he can’t believe he’s really said that, but Derek can’t find it in him to regret his words. Stiles recovers fast enough, closes his mouth and blinks.

“Well, we have all night on Valentine’s,” he counters evenly, hand smoothing down his shirt.

Derek chokes.

Stiles smiles innocently, grabs his stuff and salutes before he leaves. 

Derek takes the rest of the day to recover.

*

“It’s not a date,” he says, stirring the café latte Allison put in front of him earlier. He frowns at it.

“He asked you to hang out on Valentine’s Day, Derek,” Allison answers, patiently, though her eyebrows are judging him. Very hard. “What more do you want?”

“Yeah, but...we’re just--hanging out.”

She sighs. Patiently. “Well, then make a date out of it.”

He stares at her, and she shrugs. “How am I supposed to make a date out of it? How do I even know he wants to go on a date with me?”

Allison takes a sip from her drink, brushes a strand of hair out of her face, but before she can say anything, Lydia slides into a free chair at their table.

“Derek, honey,” she starts without preamble, “all the two of you ever do is flirt.”

“We don’t--”

“You’ve been dancing around each other since forever. It’s almost sickening to watch you two, and I’m still undecided if it’s because you’re so sweet or because you can’t get your heads out of your asses.”

Derek glares at her, she smiles like she doesn’t care. 

“We get along just fine,” Derek says defensively. He can’t get his hopes up about it. He’s been cracked too often before. Derek doesn’t want to risk his friendship with Stiles by accidentally reading more into it than there is, even if Lydia and Allison insist otherwise; say that there is, in fact, _something_. Something more than just friendship.

“You get along splendidly,” Lydia corrects him, pulls Derek’s glass over to herself to take a sip. 

“Stiles didn’t say _date_ , but he probably meant it,” Allison adds. 

“How do you know that?”

Allison pats his hand. “We’re just trying to help you here. Give us some credit. You know we wouldn’t tell you this just to mess with you.”

Lydia slides his drink back to him, smiles, consolingly. Derek thinks back to his conversation with Stiles he had a couple of days ago. He might read too much into it, but it sounded a lot like a come-on, and it was Derek who got it started. Stiles just didn’t pull his punches, he never did. 

“I don’t want to fuck it up,” Derek says, and it’s more raw than he’d like it to be. 

“You’re not going to,” Allison assures him. She smiles warmly as Lydia brushes a hand over his shoulder. 

Derek trusts their judgement, but it’s still hard to believe. His track record says differently and Derek relies a lot upon experience.

*

Derek’s fine, really. It’s not a date and there’s nothing wrong with hanging out on Valentine’s Day as friends. He’s browsing the aisles at the store looking for more stuff he can buy for tonight. Stiles texted him what pizza he wants, though Derek didn’t need a reminder. He knows Stiles’ preferences by heart. Derek grabs some bananas, puts them down when he realizes he can’t handle Stiles putting phallic-shaped objects in his mouth. 

He’s about to go to check out when he spots Stiles, talking to someone on the phone. Derek almost drops his groceries when he realizes Stiles is looking at condoms, one pack in his free hand. He’s looking it over, puts it back and takes another one; the good ones. 

And Derek--panics. A little. Because--

It’s a date. Derek curses under his breath, scrubs a hand through his hair. Of course this is a date, and Stiles wasn’t even joking about the whole night and the kinks and Derek--

Derek’s all over the place, feeling hot and cold at the same time. 

Shit. Derek didn’t even know that Stiles--god, he really is obtuse, Stiles was right. But he’s been so good on picking up Stiles’ cues, at least all the other ones. How did he miss this? How did he miss that they were on the same page? He should’ve listened to the women in his life, god dammit. 

He watches Stiles pick out a pack, laughing, and Derek catches him saying, “Yeah, tonight.”

Fuck, he’s so unprepared for this. 

*

Derek makes sure the apartment looks decent. He considered foregoing the pizza and cooking something instead but there wasn’t time for that between cleaning up real quick, taking an overdue shower and ensuring he doesn’t look like a hobo. 

He put on the thin black button down, leaves the first two buttons undone, rolls up the sleeves to his elbows. He slipped into the jeans he hates the most because they’re so tight but knows Stiles likes. Derek may have been unprepared, was he ever, but he knows how to roll with the punches. He’s anxious, a little, but it’s the good kind, the one that makes him feel giddy. 

He takes a deep breath. Stiles and he have always been good together, he knows that. This--their date--maybe it’ll make them something even better.

Derek wipes his hands on his thighs before answering the door when Stiles rings the bell. He can’t remember when he’s been this nervous last time. 

Stiles freezes for a moment, looks him up and down wordlessly, and Derek tries not to squirm. He’s dressed in one of his usual plaid shirts, hair a soft mess, and Derek feels overdressed suddenly. It’s not like they’re going _out_ , he just wanted to look--nice.

“You look _fetching_ ,” Stiles finally says, smirking, as he walks into the apartment. Derek feels way too hot under the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Thank you,” he manages, following Stiles into the living room. “You look nice, too.”

Stiles throws him a funny look, one of his eyebrows raised and a corner of his mouth slightly curled up. He drops down onto the couch, sprawls out like he so often does, and Derek likes this; likes that Stiles feels comfortable here. He smiles to himself when he turns to get the pizzas out of the oven. To be honest, Derek could go without a movie, without dinner, when he hears Stiles moan in the living room. 

“Dude, it smells delicious,” Stiles hollers. Derek can only think about how delicious Stiles _tastes_. He almost trips, feeling giddy with nervous energy, when he thinks about spreading Stiles out on the bed--the couch, even. But Stiles seems to be very eager about the food, so Derek waits. 

Derek walks back into the living room as Stiles puts the DVD into the player. His whole face lights up when he sees the pizzas, flopping down onto the couch. Derek sits down next to him, thighs brushing together, and the feeling of it ignites little sparks within Derek’s chest. 

“Can you get the lights?” Stiles asks, starts the movie, and Derek turns the lights down. 

Stiles digs into the food happily. Derek watches him for a moment, smiles to himself when Stiles leans into him a little. 

“Have you watched the film before?” Derek asks.

“Nah, Lydia said it was good,” Stiles answers, shoving some more pizza into his mouth. He shushes Derek when Derek tries to ask another question, so he shuts up and leans back, puts an arm on the backrest, almost around Stiles’ shoulder. 

Mostly, Derek finds romcoms ridiculous. They seem overdramatic, they overdo the oblivious slash dumb protagonist’s dawning realization about the perfect love story they could have going on already if they weren’t such enormous idiots. The speeches at the end usually make him laugh so hard everyone leaves the couch because it shakes too much. He’s not particularly impressed with the film Stiles chose now but it’s not like he can say no to Stiles anyway. Plus, Derek spends more time watching Stiles and taking in all the small reactions from him than really paying attention to the film. 

Stiles, on the other hand, tends to become engrossed in any movie he watches. Derek sees him curl his lips into a tiny smile; watches him furrow his eyebrows minimally; smiles when Stiles snorts at something that’s happening in the film.

“What are you looking at?” Stiles asks, turns his head so he can look at Derek.

Derek startles a little. “Nothing.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him like he doesn’t believe Derek. The expression changes, though, when Derek takes the last slice of pizza. 

“Hey, that’s mine,” Stiles protests.

Derek snorts. “Close your eyes,” he counters. “That’s all yours.”

“Funny.”

“I try.”

“What if I close my eyes and see you?” Stiles asks, teasing, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Derek can’t help the little noise that escapes him at that. Stiles _looks_ at him, face illuminated by the dancing lights from the TV screen, and he looks breathtaking. His pupils are blown wide; he licks his lips, mouth soft and inviting, and Derek--Derek is far beyond gone on him.

He brushes his knuckles lightly under Stiles’ eye before sliding his hand around his nape to pull him in for a kiss. Stiles’ lips are warm, a little chapped, but they feel amazing against Derek’s own. The kiss is sweet and languid. Stiles moves against him without hesitation and his heartbeat is like thunder in Derek’s ears. He could get lost in this, in how amazing it feels. It sets something fierce ablaze behind his ribcage, makes goosebumps spread over his skin; this is so much better than he could’ve ever imagined. He rubs tiny circles into the skin of Stiles’ neck with his thumb, and Stiles makes a soft noise in the back of his throat that Derek can’t wait to hear more often; happy that he can elicit those sounds. 

It’s like something just clicks into place; it feels like this has been building for a while. Stiles’ body is a solid weight against him, warm and comforting, fitting perfectly against Derek. He shouldn’t have been so worried about it after all. This--kissing Stiles, being with him--is just as easy as anything else, familiar even though Derek’s never kissed him before.

It’s perfect. 

Until Stiles draws back, a little reluctant it seems. His mouth is reddened, lush; Derek wants to kiss again, wants to kiss him all the time. He looks at Derek with huge eyes.

“Dude,” he says, breathless, faint. “Are you--is this for real? What are you doing?”

Derek doesn’t know what to say. He feels cold suddenly, uncertain, because Stiles stares at him with disbelief written all over his face. 

Derek pushes away from him, putting as much space between them on the couch as possible. “Sorry, I--” The words get stuck in his throat. His whole body feels numb all of a sudden. “You bought condoms,” he blurts, wincing as soon as the words are out. “I thought--”

Stiles is still staring at him. Derek feels like an idiot, like the world’s biggest idiot. Has he ever. God, he’s so stupid.

“You--saw me buying condoms,” Stiles echoes dully, eyes flicking away shortly. He inhales, glancing back at Derek. “You thought--I mean did you think I bought them for--for us, I mean, for tonight?”

It sounds even more ridiculous hearing it from Stiles. Derek can’t tell if the sensation spreading through him is scorching hot or icy cold. He looks away from Stiles, gets up--he can’t--can’t be still right now. 

“I bought them for Scott and Allison,” Stiles explains, voice soft. “He called, asked me if I could bring them some cause I was at the store anyway and--”

“Sorry,” Derek says again, wanting nothing more than to get away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--I misread it, I’m sorry.”

“Derek--”

“You should go.”

“Derek,” Stiles starts, “I’m--”

“Please?”

Stiles looks at him, sad maybe, Derek doesn’t trust himself to read his expression; to interpret it. But Stiles takes his jacket, slips into his shoes and leaves. 

He shuts the door with a soft click. Uma Thurman laughs delightedly at Jeffrey Dean Morgan declaring his love for her.

*

“I’m not moping.” He’s just trying to avoid all human interaction for a while. 

Scott, unfortunately, is annoyingly persistent. “Dude, I can hear The Simpsons in the background.”

“So.”

“So, you hate The Simpsons.”

“So.”

Derek can hear Scott sigh down the phone line. “So, you’re moping.”

“I’m not. I discovered that I actually do like The Simpsons.”

“What’s their last name?”

“Homer.”

Scott sighs, deep and long. “No, man, their last name is Simpson, hence the name of the show.”

Derek sags a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, gentle, patient. “Look, whatever happened between you and Stiles, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

“It was a misunderstanding, and I’d kindly like to be left alone now.”

“You should talk to him,” Scott advises.

“I should flush my phone’s battery down the toilet.”

“Derek.”

“Scott,” he parrots, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s done with this, he doesn’t wanna talk about it. “We’re just not on the same page about some stuff, and I misinterpreted some things, came to the wrong conclusions, and I’d like to be alone for a little. I don’t want to make things more awkward than they already are.”

Scott’s quiet for a moment. Derek counts the seconds ticking by. 

“Fine,” Scott complies. “Just--don’t exile yourself, okay?”

Derek says, “Yeah, yeah,” and hangs up. He stares at his TV with his phone in hand, blinks as one of the figures says something so stupid it actually hurts his brain. He always thought the people in general on the show were called Simpsons. “I’m not moping,” Derek mutters to himself and turns off of the TV. 

*

As life has it, he runs out of groceries sooner than later. He puts shopping off as long as possible but he’s scrolling through some article he accidentally stumbled upon and there’s a giant Boa Constrictor swallowing a crocodile. The snake looks like a demon from hell with its jaw unhinged, mouth wide to shove the other reptile into its body, and it’s a natural nightmare, kinda gross and slightly scary too, but Derek gets really fucking hungry watching this. 

Something is definitely wrong with him.

At least he doesn’t feel like eating a crocodile. 

God, nobody can ever know about this, least of all Sti--

Nobody.

It’s how he finds himself at the store, though, picking up random stuff that he likes. He might cook today, treat himself to a nice meal or something. Depending on his mood. Usually, he’s either too hungry to cook something, or too lazy. Either way, he’s throwing all sorts of things into the basket, just to have it, to keep it as an option. 

When he turns, his eyes land on Stiles, like he’s trained to notice him first, and it’s stupid, so stupid, but Derek’s sure his heart skips a beat. Stiles is picking out another pack of condoms, of course, Scott seems to be unable to get his own fucking rubbers. He’s unerring in his choice, picks up a box, though he turns it over in his hands, face thoughtful. 

Derek desperately wants to turn away, wants to stop looking at him, but it’s nearly impossible. Stiles draws him in, unstoppable, and Derek simply can’t help himself; no matter how foolish it seems to be. 

Stiles looks up then, meets Derek’s eyes right away, as if he’s sensed Derek’s there. Derek stays frozen in place, blood rushing way too loudly in his ears; heart stuttering in a way that shouldn’t be possible. A shy smile spreads over Stiles’ face, he raises a hand for a little wave.

Derek drops the basket and flees.

*

He is chickenshit. There’s no denying that, although he’d fight everyone on it who called him that. Running away does make him look pathetic, though, butthurt and scared. Which he’s not. Well, maybe only a little, but nobody can blame him, it’s hard to look rejection in the eye. He just needs some time to get over the embarrassment, over the fact that he’s been played by his love-crazed hormones; needs time to forget the disbelieving look on Stiles’ face. 

In his haste to get away, Derek stopped by a bakery, blindly bought lots and lots of stuff he doesn’t even know the names of, or what it takes like, but it’s food, so who cares. It’s also sugar, some say it helps. 

He’s happy with his muffins, he really is, when there’s a sharp knock on the door. Derek decides ignoring it. 

Only it doesn’t stop and then the doorbell rings, loud and annoying, and it compels Derek to get it. He realizes it’s Stiles before he even opens the door, recognizes the staccato of his heartbeat. For a moment, he hesitates. Derek knows better than to ignore Stiles if he really wants something. This, ringing the bell and knocking, could go on for a whole while longer. So he opens the door and finds himself face to face with Stiles, way too close and yet too far away. 

“Hey,” Stiles says on a breath. He doesn’t wait to be invited in, just sneaks into the apartment before Derek can stop him. “Can we talk?”

No, Derek wants to say, No, we cannot. “I guess,” is what he actually says. 

Stiles exhales deeply, shoulders sagging. He drops his backpack next to the couch, sits down gingerly and pats the space next to him. Derek leans in the doorway. Stiles smiles tightly.

“So?” Derek prompts.

“So, about the other night,” Stiles begins slowly. Derek comes to sit on the couch, at the far end, and crosses his arms defensively in front of himself. “I think there was a misunderstanding.”

“You think so?” Derek asks, lifting both of his eyebrows. He’s not particularly thrilled about this conversation. He doesn’t need a reminder, least of all from Stiles, that he fucked up. 

Stiles smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He wrings his hands, fusses with his hair. “Look, I’m sorry for giving off a wrong impression--”

Derek snorts, and Stiles shoots him a sour look. “It’s just--you really thought I was buying condoms for us?”

Derek casts his eyes down, ears burning. “You were on the phone, in the store,” Derek snaps. “You said tonight. What was I supposed to think?”

“Well, first of all, _rude_. You don’t listen in on private conversations, and second of all, Scott just asked when you and I were gonna meet.”

“Your pupils were blown wide.” Derek’s grasping at straws here, but really, he’s lost his dignity when he kissed Stiles days ago, so. 

Stiles stares at him, then rolls his eyes and leans back against the cushions, covering his face with his hands. “Dude, it was dark. Have you ever heard of something called accommodation? It’s the thing your pupils do when it’s dark, so you can see something.”

“Well, thanks for clearing that up,” Derek says curtly, getting up to show Stiles out. “I’m sure we’ll laugh about it in ten years.”

Stiles grabs his wrist in a loose circle of his fingers, gently, and looks up at him, eyes open and tender. “You plan on keeping me around for so long?”

Derek doesn’t free himself, to focused on the point of connection, of the feeling of Stiles touching him. He swallows around the lump in his throat. Stiles’ eyes are scrutinizing, beautiful, and Derek can’t tear himself away from them, from all of Stiles, really. 

“Can’t help myself,” he says. The admission is too raw, too honest than he’d like; makes him feel like he stripped himself bare in front of Stiles, aching with how much he wants Stiles to take him, all of him. Stiles’ grip on him tightens minutely, and he pulls Derek down. Derek follows without looking at Stiles. 

Stiles takes his hand, twines their fingers together carefully, and Derek can’t do anything but stare dumbly at their joined hands. “I didn’t know you wanted this,” Stiles says quietly. “If you hadn’t asked me to leave, I’d have told you that I didn’t oppose to making out. I just--when you kissed me, it completely blew my mind. I wasn’t firing at all cylinders, okay, I--you pretty much steamrolled me.”

Derek can’t help the little snort that escapes him. “Like this has ever fazed you before.”

Stiles squeezes his hand tightly, drawing his eyebrows together. “Do you know how long I’ve been fantasizing about this? And then you just come along and kiss me, and I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming or that this was some stupid joke, or just you being horny or--”

“It was neither of those,” Derek cuts in. He looks down at their hands again, feeling heady with several different emotions clashing inside of him. “I thought we were on a date, and when you asked about seeing me when you closed your eyes--I don’t know. I really wanted to kiss you. I want you to see me when you close your eyes.”

When he looks up, Stiles is smiling at him, wide, beautiful. It makes Derek’s bones melt, makes him feel warm from the inside out. 

“I do,” Stiles admits, ducks his head while his cheeks flush a delicious red. “It’s--almost everything I do, everywhere I go, I always find something that reminds me of you.”

Derek raises their hands, brushes his lips over Stiles’ knuckles. It’s like a dead weight has been lifted off of him. Happiness surges like a wave through him, anticipation makes him feel heady. Stiles leans into him, nose brushing against Derek’s. The scent of him, content, satisfied, envelopes Derek. It’s an enticing sensation.

When their lips meet, it’s sweet and soft, with Stiles smiling against Derek’s mouth. Derek wraps his arms around him, pulls him close, closer, until Stiles’ thigh bracket his, and ravishes in the feeling of Stiles pressed up against him like this. Stiles digs his hands into Derek’s hair, turns the kiss deeper, filthier. His tongue flicks out, twists against Derek in a way that makes Derek moan. He slides his hands deeper, cups Stiles’ ass--god, his _ass_ , finally--and squeezes, and Stiles’ hips buck; push back into Derek’s hands before he rolls them down, against Derek’s crotch. Derek draws back, breath hitching in his throat. 

“Please tell me your pupils are--”

“It’s you,” Stiles interrupts him, gasping for air as he thrusts his hips against Derek’s again. “It’s all you.”

Derek leans forward, trails gentle, biting kisses over Stiles’ jaw, down his exposed throat when Stiles tips his head back. Nips, and licks, and sucks at the skin, shudders spilling over his skin every time Stiles gasps, or whimpers, breath catching in his throat. 

“Bought--condoms,” Stiles says, tips Derek’s jaw up with his fingers to angle his head, leans down and kisses Derek open-mouthed. 

“Scott and Allison ran out already?”

Stiles pushes at Derek’s shoulders until he falls backwards, Stiles scrambling after him, body pressing down firmly, and god, Derek loves this. “No, asshole,” Stiles says before he scrapes his teeth over Derek’s jaw, slots their groins together. Derek thrusts up helplessly. “For--us, this time.”

“Yeah?” Derek groans as Stiles’ hands slip down, start rubbing Derek’s dick through his pants. “Gonna put them to good use?”

“Was planning on it,” Stiles answers, mouth hot and open against Derek’s. “Off, get it off.” He lets go of Derek’s dick, pushes up his shirt instead until Derek helps dispose of it. Stiles latches onto his exposed skin immediately, traces hot trails down Derek’s chest, comes back up again to lick and suck at his collarbones. It drives him crazy, god, he could’ve had this already if he’d taken Scott’s advice. He should stop thinking about Scott when Stiles is sliding down his body.

Derek rids Stiles of his shirt too, gets him out of his pants before he wraps his mouth around a nipple; sucks and bites at it until Stiles is keening. It’s beautiful. Stiles pushes him down again, splays his hands over Derek’s chest as he leans down, flicks his tongue into Derek’s mouth. Derek’s sure his knees would give if he wasn’t already lying on the couch. Stiles hands wander farther down while he kisses the corner of Derek’s mouth, licks and bites at his jaw, and then his fingers deftly work open Derek’s pants, and Derek lifts his hips to help Stiles to pull them down. Derek kicks them away once he’s out of them, catches Stiles looking at his crotch where he’s already straining against his underwear, hot and hard and desperate for Stiles’ touch. 

“You okay?” Derek asks, trails his fingertips up Stiles’ arm. 

“You’re wearing UnderArmour,” Stiles says, hooks a finger around the waistband of Derek’s briefs, pulls and lets them snap back. His eyes flick up to meet Derek’s.

“That a problem?” Derek asks, frowning slightly.

Stiles hums contemplatively. He doesn’t answer right away, instead he leans down, mouths at Derek’ dick through the fabric. Derek bites back a moan, arches his back when Stiles’ lips wrap around the head of his cock, lightly, hot and wet. Stiles licks down, sucks at his balls, and it’s too much and not enough. Stiles hums again when he draws back, sits up again and pulls the briefs down in one motion. 

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “It actually is.”

Derek thumps his head back and exhales a deep breath. This has got to be a joke.

“I mean no,” Stiles adds hastily when Derek looks at him again. He wraps a hand around Derek’s dick and it’s almost too much. His long fingers fit around him perfectly, fist warm and tight. “I mean, I don’t think the condoms are gonna fit. I bought, like, standard size or whatever. Not that anything about you is standard, I mean look at you, and well, I guess I should’ve known--”

Derek spreads his legs a little more. “Stiles,” he cuts in, smiles wryly when Stiles’ eyes lock on him. “It’s okay, we don’t have to--”

“Do butt stuff?”

That’s not the phrase Derek would’ve picked, but it works too.

“But I wanna do butt stuff,” Stiles says, pouts, really. 

“Butt stuff,” Derek echoes, and Stiles flaps a hand at him.

“Sex, dude,” he elaborates on an upstroke, and Derek thinks he might die. Stiles’ hands closes around the head of his cock, thumb smearing around precome. “I want you to fuck me.”

Derek pulls Stiles away from his cock so he can pull off Stiles’ boxers, shoves them down and watches how Stiles steps out of them. His dick is curving up against his stomach, flushed and dripping at the tip. He leans back over Derek, presses their erections together, and Derek’s sure his brain might shut off. Stiles wraps a hand around them both, it’s hot and a little too dry but Derek really can’t be bothered to get up and get lube now. 

“God, Derek,” Stiles breathes as he knocks their foreheads together. “You feel so good.”

Derek curls an arm around Stiles’ waist and uses the other to squeeze his ass. Stiles bucks forward, moans, and Derek catches his mouth in a kiss, nips at his bottom lip, red and plush and swollen. He reaches down then, wraps his hand around Stiles, watches how Stiles looks down at their hands, their dicks rubbing together in a mess of precome. Little, soft noises keep falling out of his mouth and Derek catalogues them all. 

“I wasn’t kidding,” Stiles says, twists his hand, and Derek’s mouth falls open on a loud moan. “I want to you to fuck me.”

Derek shudders, goosebumps spreading over his skin. Stiles’ voice is low, enticing. “Want you to fuck me,” he says again, breathless. “Spread me open on your fingers first, slow and sweet, and then--” He throws his head back, groans when Derek rubs his thumb over his slit. Derek licks a stripe up his neck. Stiles hums, Adam’s apple bobbing. “And then push your cock inside me.”

Derek feels his orgasm building, thrusts up, helpless, into Stiles’ fist; gasps at Stiles’ cock sliding against his. Stiles’ mouth is hot against his ear.

“Want you to go all the way in,” he continues, gasps. “Want you to fuck me hard and fast, until all you can remember is my name. Want you to fuck me, make me come just from your cock--”

Stiles stutters, hips pushing up into his own grip, and his mouth is open, helpless little sounds falling out of it, and Derek slips his hand back around, lets his fingers slip into the crack of Stiles’ ass.

“I will,” Derek promises, as he presses open-mouthed kisses to Stiles’ throat. “Will make you take it.”

Stiles whines, hand working fast on them now, making Derek’s toes curl in anticipation.

“Will make you come so hard,” Derek adds, brushes a finger experimentally over Stiles’ hole.

Stiles’ hips stutter and he arches his back, bowstring-tight, as he comes with a moan, spurting over his hand. He keeps stroking, coats Derek’s dick with his come, and it’s what tips Derek over the edge. He comes, mouth open, yet no sound leaves his throat, and his orgasm crashes hard over him, leaving him gasping for air, heart beating almost painfully against his ribs. 

Stiles sags against him. He’s warm, soft, tucks his face against Derek’s neck while Derek curls an arm around him. 

“I need a moment,” Stiles mutters into his skin. “Or ten.”

Derek smiles, spent, relaxed. “You were so good,” he says as he buries his nose in Stiles’ hair. Stiles hums. 

They stay like that for a little while, breathing against each other, coming down from their high. Stiles sits up slowly, eyes big again as he looks at Derek.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just--” He sticks a hand into his backpack, pulls out his wallet and flips it open. He goes through some compartments until he fishes out a condom. He flicks it at Derek’s chest with a dirty grin. 

Derek picks it up. The little foil reads, _XXL_. He lifts an eyebrow at Stiles who straddles his legs again. Stiles shrugs nonchalantly. 

“I got it when I was still in high school,” he says. “Never got around to use it. Guess it’s a good thing I kept it.”

Derek lifts the other eyebrow too.

“Ready for the next round?” Stiles asks with a smirk so full of dirty promise it makes Derek’s dick twitch. Stiles’ grin widens as he trails his fingertips over his cock, eyes locked on Derek’s. Derek keens when Stiles starts stroking him again, slow, long strokes, and he laughs, leans into Derek; kisses him slow and deep.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says as Derek rips open the foil.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come find me on [tumblr](http://lycantrophies.tumblr.com/) if you feel like it.


End file.
